Gathering the Scattered Pieces: Fear
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: Episode 4: James and Amy return to the Pirates realm and give chase to another manifestation in their quest to restore Jack Sparrow from his Shattered state. But dark forces are at work to impede their mission.
1. Fear and Loathing in Tortuga

Audience? What are you doing staring at a blank screen, Audience? Well prepare for the epicosity levels to skyrocket, because at long last I have an update for you!

I apologize once again for the wait. I was working on about a dozen projects at once, all with the same deadline, and of course there was much unneeded drama culminating in a police report for harassment (and a counter report), and many damaged relationships. Ugh. But let me not bore you with the troubles of my life. That's not what you came here for. Let us delve once again into the search for Jack's missing elements in the quest to reunite them into his single and singular being. The story comes back to its roots once more in the Pirates realm. Enjoy!

**Chapter One: Fear and Loathing in Tortuga**

James squared his jaw. She was giving him that look. That little half glare, half kicked puppy look. Why did she have to be so stubborn? "I have no wish to go _anywhere_ other than onto a ship and out to sea," he attempted to reason with his young relative. "My fervency to visit any realms other than my _own_ is waning."

"Oh. Well why didn't you just say that in the first place?" she replied cheerfully. He fought the urge to facepalm. "We could do with some sailing—I'm surprised Jack's crew have stuck around for this long! It's been a few months."

"I was intrigued as well. It seems that the portion of reward money from Lusee that Sparrow gave them was substantial enough to sustain them most of this time."

"Come to think of it, I haven't even _seen _Mr. Gibbs yet—you would think I'd have gone and said 'hi', but I haven't."

"You would also think that a pirate crew would have left for a town with more bars and brothels, but they haven't either."

"More bars?"

"Oh dear," James actually facepalmed this time. He'd said too much. He knew exactly where her mind was going, even without hearing her thoughts.

"You know what _else_ I haven't done?"

"Don't say it..."

"I've never been to Tortuga."

He glared. "You just said it."

"We should go."

He had to put his foot down and draw the line somewhere. "Absolutely not! Tortuga is no place for you. It's a lot uglier than Jack's fond memories describe it. And the number of drunken, lusting sailors makes it a dangerous place for a young woman like yourself."

"The crew needs to stay happy, and in order for that to happen, they need to get back to what they do best."

"It is not up to me, and _especially_ not up to you to lead them back into piracy. And I'm sure Jack would not be too happy that the _Pearl_ was taken abroad in his absence."

"Exactly. Which is why I conjure a turtle-ship or a galley or something, let them sail under Gibbs and have some fun there, and then mysteriously sink it in the night once they're all back here."

"We're still not going to Tortuga," he replied firmly.

"We? It started out as _me._ What's up with you? Never been?"

"Oh I've been, all right. Far more often than I should. And I do not think the barkeep was very fond of me by the time I left."

Thinking he had attempted to close the bar on a Commodorely basis, she did not think much of this statement. "Is the barkeep your only problem?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"It's that whole blasted port," he snapped. "Every bloody rock, broken bottle, and grain of sand—there is _nothing_ about it worth visiting. It lures the unsuspecting to paradise and then chains them there in their own prison." Not thinking on the last statement, either, she gave him her best kicked-puppy face. "No. Oh no, not the face..." He set his jaw, crossed his arms, and they stared each other down. "No. You are _not_ getting me to go to Tortuga."

—

"I _cannot_ believe you got me to go to Tortuga," James grumbled sourly, looking at the island on the horizon through his spyglass. The lass stood beside him on the reddy-brown deck and chuckled, crossing her arms behind her head.

"What can I say? I'm a convincing person." After reading and re-reading several books on ships, she had successfully managed to conjure this ship, a small, two-masted, gaff-rigged schooner. She hadn't realized until James made a comment that schooners hadn't been invented yet.

The unique sails flapped and billowed in the zephyrs—unique in their colour, shading from a deep, bright red at the tops to an orangy, shining gold at the bottoms, illustrating with the _Sunrise'_sname the 'red in the morning sailor's warning' part of the adage.

It felt great to be on a ship again, after so long, although even if she had tried, she could not have made it faster or smoother than the _Pearl_, and hopefully the crew would prefer sailing on Jack's ship to this.

They floated into port, dropped anchor, and after Gibbs had set up the watches all going ashore disembarked.

Amy wandered the dusty streets, admiring the old buildings and comparing them to the concrete jungles she was used to. It was a remarkably clean town, for all the abuse it received in its nightly hours. To spend their daily hours, she suggested that they check out the local library—being as eager as she was to explore the literature of the time and the Realm. James, being equally _not_ eager to be in town, agreed in a heartbeat. As it were, there were many interesting volumes, and at length, Amy shrank one to the size of a deck of cards and stuffed it into her boot. It was the first thing she'd ever stolen, although the complete silence and loneliness did not make it a difficult task in the slightest. She concluded that she might find pleasure in pursuing Jack's profession, and was about to take another book when a great hand wrapped around her wrist and she looked up to see James looking down at her with a dangerous look on his face. She nearly squeaked in surprise and fright. She'd been caught. There was no way she could defend herself, and she knew he didn't approve. Above all she didn't want him to be angry with her. Not when she'd dragged him here when he hadn't wanted to come in the first place. But he said nothing; just put a finger to his lips and jerked his head toward the back exit. She followed obediently, not asking any questions.

"Sorry to cut our reading short," he apologized distractedly once they were outside again. "A pair came in that I didn't quite like the look of, and I thought a hasty retreat would be a bit less messy than a confrontation." She nodded her understanding, calmed that she hadn't been caught. Then she gasped in horror. "What? What is it?" He whirled around in alarm, hand on hilt. There was nothing but a startled and very disgruntled goat.

"They've got a bunch of kids with them—those men. They might be in trouble."

James sighed in exhasperation. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in Tortugan affairs. "All right. Wait here, and I'll see what they're about." He turned away, drawing his sword, and stalked toward the entrance the men had come in. He paused near the door and carefully angled his head to see in. There were the two men. And just as the girl had divined, there were five boys with them. The men dressed in a mottled finery; the boys were dirty and dressed in rags. All seven were gathered around a small pile of plunder, which was quickly growing as pockets and bags were emptied onto it.

"We've a nice haul for this week, lads," one cackled, and they began to divide up the spoils. "Get yerselfs cleaned up, boys. Good disguise, the 'omeless orphans beggin'. Wunnerful distraction while we robbed 'em blind, eh?" They laughed.

"So do we go in with swords blazing?" Amy asked beside him.

James jerked to look at her. His brows came down frustratedly. "Not at all. Those boys are in no danger from the men. They are a band of pickpockets and bandits. I thought I told you to stay behind."

"Got bored. Why are they here?"

"Library's deserted, as we saw for ourselves. They must use it as a hideout. Let's go."

"You're not going to do anything about it?"

He turned back to her. "Like what?"

"Like catch them for stealing."

"If I went around trying to arrest every soul in this port guilty of stealing, there'd be no one left." Amy felt her ears burn, remembering the book she had stolen. "Besides, I don't think anyone would thank me for interfering outside my jurisdiction—that is to say, if I even have jurisdiction."

"Those boys would."

"Would they? I don't think they would. There are no orphanages on Tortuga. Those boys are healthy, well-fed, and have a roof over their heads. My stepping in would only take that away from them. The lines of justice are very blurry in a place like this, I find."

Nodding, she followed him into town.

—

Night fell quickly, Tortuga brightly aglow with lanterns. Amy wandered through streets that were now soaked with rum (and some with blood), the forms of men already passed out beginning to litter the gutters. The yells and shouts of a brawl at one bar mingled with the loud, energetic music from another. Once again, pirates had the governor tied up in the well, demanding to know where the town's treasury was, and lowering him underwater when he refused to tell them. Ames wondered how often this happened to him, and how he had survived thus far. Perfume and rum perforated the air, and she breathed deep the proliferous bouquet that was Tortuga.

She swung open the doors of The Faithful Bride tavern and paused to take it in. A small fight was going on in one corner, although no one seemed to be taking much notice. She stepped further in. The conversation at a nearby table halted, and the three men who had been having it quietly rose, eyes gleaming with glee at this unsuspecting present that had walked into their grasp. They began to follow her slowly, waiting for their opportunity. She spotted Gibbs having a drink at a table not far away. She saluted; he raised his tankard merrily. His smile disappeared as she turned and continued, noticing the suspicious figures following her. He rose, his hand on his cutlass, but hesitated. The goons were snickering to themselves, about to pounce, when strong hands came down on their shoulders. They froze in their tracks, then turned. Their faces turned to horror, and they fled, quarry forgotten. James's glance flickered to Gibbs, whose hand was still on his sword. They nodded to one another, and the latter returned to his drink.

He drew closer to her, protectively. Sensing him, she turned to face him—who was looking down his nose at her, arms crossed, fixing her with the same intimidating expression he'd given the drunks. Her cheer fled, and she almost felt as though she should run away too. "Uh... Are you okay?"

A muscle tightened in his jaw. How oblivious could she be? "Fine," he growled.

"I'm going to get a drink. You want any?"

"You are not old enough."

"I just want a taste. The idea of getting drunk or even tipsy isn't at all appealing."

Knowing he could easily overpower her and drag her out of that horrid place was tempting, but before he could decide whether to argue or not, she had already turned toward the bar, surveying the intimidating men gathered around it. "Any tips? How am I supposed to look?"

He sighed inwardly. This experience might be good for her. The drinking, no. The procuring it: perhaps. "Keep a hand on your hilt—just let it relax there; you only want it to draw attention to the fact that you are carrying a weapon. And don't go putting your hand on your hip as you tend to do."

"Okay." She started off, and James caught her by the shoulder and brought her back to him.

"And when you get to the bar, make direct eye contact with whomever you are talking to."

"James—."

"And don't go sticking your rump out if you lean on the bar."

"I wouldn't do that any—."

"And try not to wag like you have a tail. Save it for another realm."

"Big brother instinct too much!" she finally cried. Her eyebrows raised at him. "Jeez, boy, I have _some_ common sense, you know. I'm a generally calm person, and I'm really not all that girly. I'm _just_ getting a rum. I'll be fine."

He took a deep breath, still uneasy at being there. "Fine."

"Listen, I'll keep the brainwaves open if you need anything or if you think _I _need anything. But seriously—I'm more competent than you give me credit."

He bit back a scathing reply concerning her levels of alertness, and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms and taking up the intimidating stance of a slightly tipsy pirate who would rather not be bothered.

She watched him for a moment before taking up her posture and making her way toward the bar. She agilely sidestepped a small fight that had broken out and managed to maneuver her way through the drunken crowd to the bar without losing her composure. However, even the lack of danger she felt did not diminish the nervousness swelling in her breast. But her countenance remained composed. James, watching her from his shadowy corner, observed her level of alertness—nothing went unnoticed—she was smart enough to use all her senses for help: If a person pushed another, or if a drunk tripped on his clumsy feet, and she was in the way, even if her back was to them, she knew he was there and could anticipate where he would end up, always managing to elude that pending accident. He wondered why she hadn't noticed the men following her. But then, they had been at a greater distance. It had even taken him a minute to realize their intentions.

She leaned her hands nonchalantly on the grimy bar, meeting the gaze of the grizzly barkeep. "Rum," she ordered, pushing a penny his way. He gave her an odd look, but her confidence convinced him she wasn't kidding around.

"Don' serve children."

"Morals in Tortuga? Half a pint. Come on, now." Muttering to himself, the bar tender swiped up the coin and retreated to get her drink. She tipped him another penny, lifting her mug to him and taking a small sip. Upon deeming its flavour praisable, she made her way back to her nephew. "Well?" she asked with another sip.

His unfriendly countenance did not waver with conversation. "You're not dead or injured, so I suppose that was well-executed." She smiled casually, leaning beside him against the wall and taking another sip of rum. "Don't go drinking too much of that. I don't want to have to deal with a hung over teenager tomorrow."

She chuckled. "You didn't honestly think I'd drink a whole half a tankard, did you? It's good, yeah, but I'm not _that_ stupid. I'll stop after a while."

"Yes, well, beware. Alcohol tends to act much more quickly in those of smaller stature."

A muscle tightened in Amy's jaw. Did _everyone_ have to mention her size? Her major growth spurt had been three inches in the fourth grade. Now, she was five-two and basically finished growing at the age of fifteen. "You want the rest, then?"

He shook his head. "I haven't touched hard liquor in years. Wine and coffee, whenever I am at sea."

"What—did something happen?" She had a feeling that bad memories were about to be unearthed and braced herself.

"I do not like what it does to me." He had wanted to end the conversation there, but her enquiring expression and knowing eyes propelled him onward. "I—it... The last time I had rum, it felt like every bad feeling I could feel about any given thing, even if only slightly—or perhaps even without my acknowledgment—all the bitterness, all the anger and misery in the world was burning inside of me, and I had to take it out on anyone and everyone in my path." She looked up at him thoughtfully, took one last swig of her drink, and then went to turn her tankard upside down. "Wait," he grunted, taking it from her. "It would not do to waste your pennies." He downed what was left of it. When he lowered the tankard, he felt lower than he'd felt in months. He burned with shame, and already there was cause for bitterness, even without the draught's effects.

The girl was perhaps ignorant of all of this, grinning at him. Perhaps she thought his baring of himself had been a joke. Perhaps it was better that way. "Now, let's find a place to get some cheese."

"Cheese?" his eyebrows drew together. "Why cheese?"

"Because I'm going into cheese withdrawal and I need my fix. Come on." With a sigh, he followed her out, placing the tankard on the tray of a passing bar girl, and rolling his eyes at Gibbs, who had noticed their exit.

Gibbs smiled and raised his tankard to the man, chuckling, "A woman is always in charge—especially when yer related to her."

—

They had successfully procured their cheese, and were now munching as they strolled along the border between town and beach, chatting about this and that—stupid things, things that didn't really matter. There was an air of cheerfulness about them, as though nothing could go wrong.

After wiping the grease and crumbs from their hands, they climbed down a wooden retaining wall to continue their stroll in the surf. The tide was coming in, and they were able to wet their boots only a few yards away from said barrier. In many places, thickets and grasses—even a tree or two—grew out from between the logs and planks, creating black shadows in the moonlight. The more and more of such places they passed, the more afraid of them Amy was becoming. She couldn't understand why she was feeling this way. Common sense soon calmed her, although every instinct was telling her to run or hide.

"James," she finally said, clutching his arm in her fright. "I'm scared."

He paused mid-stride, surprised: This was the first time he had seen her afraid—she who seemed to fear nothing. "What of, pet?"

"I don't know." Hmmm. Maybe she _was_ afraid of nothing. "It's just this feeling—like there's something waiting there to get us."

"And you think it's waiting for us specifically."

"Could be. And it might have friends."

"So you think that there is something, or perhaps more than one something, lurking in the shadows and waiting to attack us?" James sighed. "Amy, you are a _pioneer_ of paranoia."

His confidence reassured her, and she eventually suppressed the fear. Their stroll continued so far before they doubled back and followed the same path back. (They would have been following their own footprints had the surf not filled them with sand.) With the passing of time and cheerful conversation, her fear disappeared. And now, as they approached that same place, she pushed that fear to the back of her mind and plodded placidly beside her escort.

However, their roles had switched. As they drew nearer and nearer to a large copse growing out of the barrier, apprehension began to beat faster in James's chest, although his countenance did not betray that feeling. Thus, as the couple were passing said copse, he suddenly stopped and pushed her protectively behind him, senses alert. "Wha—?"

"Shh. I heard something."

"Could be a squirrel," she suggested.

"No, it was bigger than that. Something is watching us."

"_Now_ who's being paranoid?"

He turned around, grasping her shoulders irritatedly. "I know what I heard, and I've experience enough to tell its size. Now shush." He turned back around to analyze the situation. After much consideration, he said, "It would be much better for us to face it than to risk running and having it come after us. Stay behind me."

They crept in near silence toward that fearful place, boots hardly making a sound over the sand. The light of the full moon set their path in a silver twilit glow, and though it was bright, it only served to deepen the shadows in the place where they needed to see most. Slowly, cautiously, they approached the copse. They passed back and forth along its perimeter, never daring to set foot inside. At one spot, something moved as they passed, setting fronds and leaves quivering. "Who's there? Come out at once." Nothing happened. "Give us some light, Amy." She snapped her fingers and a small ball of light appeared, floating several inches above her palm. Its light caught the movement of something attempting to recoil into the shadows.

"It's a man," she realized. James drew his sword.

"Then put that light out. Quickly!—Do you want to be tried at the stake again?" he hissed. She gave him a meek expression and allowed the bobbing light to become a normal, flickering lantern. Norrington proceeded to call out to the hiding soul. "Show yourself. There is no use hiding now that we know you are in there. Come out of we'll set the place ablaze." Nothing. "You've had your warning. One." There was a great commotion in the bushes. "Two." The noise grew louder as the man struggled toward the open world. "Three. Ten." A form exploded from the copse, falling at the former Commodore's boots and pleading frantically for his life. "Why were you hiding in there?" James demanded.

"I-I was hiding, s-s-sir," the fearful form stammered.

Norrington kicked him off of his boots. "Yes, but _why?_"

The man sat back up on his knees, and they could see his face. His clothing was torn and tattered. His hair, where it should have been long and dreadlocked, was short and stringy, eyebrows and moustache frazzled, beard inexplicably short. His eyes were wild with fear and sunken into his face a little, with bags beneath them. Tremors of barely-controlled panic shook his countenance. "I-I w-w-was a-afraid." It was Jack.

With what can only be described as half laugh-half sob, Amy threw herself at him, arms wrapping about his neck. "You're back, you're back! We were so worried about you." However, at her touch Jack struggled out of reach, stumbling back and looking at her like she was some monster. "J...Jack? What's wrong?"

"Amy, I do not think that is Jack," said James, brows knit together, sheathing his sword and replacing his pistol. "Pardon out hastiness. Will you give us the liberty of asking your name?"

"No. Y-you frighten m-me," not-Jack mumbled.

Ames and James exchanged excitedly shocked expressions. "Fear!" they chorused. Another emotion!

However, their excitement served only to frighten Fear more, and he bolted. "Wait!" the lass cried after him. "We want to help you!" But he was not coming back. "Just great," she turned to her companion. "Now we have to find Fear in Tortuga."

"I'm afraid that is a feat which rivals the existence of a cursed Aztec treasure in probability." They looked back at the town, aglow and crowded, the first rays of sunrise streaking the sky. It would be a _long_ search.

* * *

And there you have it! A long chapter to end a long break. Thanks for reading. Bless your face. If you sneezed during this update, bless you. Peace off! Doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo DO REVIEW! Outro of darkness, then redness, then whiteness! Boop!


	2. Trust in Fear

Once again an unreasonably long wait, and once again a long chapter. I had meant to upload this entire episode over winter break, but didn't expect all of my free time to suddenly disappear. Redid my room after five or six years of talking about it; new semester, new classes; a lot of drama, stupidity, court cases, blah blah blah; and of course, now I'm in the musical! (We're doing A Vert Potter Musical! 8D )

Anyway, enjoy this, and hopefully I'll be a little more present of mind as far as updating goes.

**Chapter Two: Of Fear's Trust**

They chased after the quickly shrinking form. They would soon lose him in Tortuga if he got too far ahead of them, and then finding him again would be nearly impossible.

James wove through the drunken masses, Amy following hard on his heels, present in his mind so that she always knew where he was and would be able to find him if they got separated. They ducked in and out of taverns, dodging through the numerous barfights and navigating their way to secret or emergency exits, only the wave of a sash or the blur of an arm passing out of sight to guide them.

Perhaps the third or fourth bar of the chase, they found themselves back at The Faithful Bride. Instead of immediately exiting as he had from earlier buildings, Fear was now searching for a hiding place. "Why's he come here?" Amy asked her nephew as a brawl forced them against a yellowed, cracked wall.

"It's familiar," he replied distractedly, struggling to keep his eyes on the unfamiliarly familiar form over the flailing fists and limbs of the brawl. "Up the steps! Move!" They shoved their way through the crowd, climbing the rum-soaked flight as quickly as the space would allow them, hurtling over collapsed drunks, slipping on spilt drinks and bottles.

"Oh!" the lass exclaimed, ducking down. James, behind her, followed suit, barely evading an airborne bottle which exploded against the wall where their heads had just been. He rose above the railing with an unimpressed expression, the girl standing up beside him and examining a brown tricorn with a large maroon plume. She placed it on her head (much to her companion's disgust) and was pleased when she found it fit. She felt James' glare and did a double-take to face him. "What?" He stood a moment, staring at her with a frown before cuffing her over the head and pointing up the stairs. "Whoa!" she took off again. And all this in the space of but a moment or two.

They shoved their way through the brawling scallywags on the upper level, chasing after the elusive form that embodied the very emotion of fear. "Hurry!" James grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up to his pace as they headed toward a room at the back of the second level. They reached it just as an arm pulled the door closed, barely stopping in time to avoid smacking into it.

Ames tried the knob, bouncing and shaking it frustratedly. "Locked." She turned to James, stepping aside. "Would you do the honours?"

"Of course, Madam," he said pleasantly with a bow. He rose again with a much more dangerous expression, and barreled forward into it. The door exploded from its hinges, splinters raining down.

"Nice work, James." They raced into the room.

Empty.

"Search the wardrobe and under the bed," Norrington ordered. "He could be anywhere, and fear compels a person to take dangerous risks."

She noticed something before she could begin to search. "The window," she pointed. It was open, stained curtains blowing in the breeze. They rushed over and leaned out. There was Fear, hastily climbing down the side of the building. He glanced up, and with a panicked gasp, saw them. Taking a risk as dangerous as James had just mentioned, he dropped the last fifteen feet—much to Amy's dismay—and hit the ground with a somersault. He sat for a moment dazed, before shaking off the fall, and set off again.

Without a second thought, James sprinted toward the window and dove out of it, plummeting head-first toward the earth two and a half stories below. "James!" she cried, a hand stretching out after him. Miraculously, he twisted in the air and landed steadily on his feet, almost immediately tearing after Fear, who was only fifty meters ahead. Amy managed to briefly turn the remains of the door into a pulley-opperated elevator (why yes, she was singing elevator music), and moments later was tearing after them, down the dusty, empty street. With a deep breath, she summoned more speed out of herself and soon caught up.

"Glad you could join us, dear," James called sarcastically.

"How did you manage that landing?" she demanded.

"What? This is no time for—."

"Anyone else might have gotten hurt, a fall like that. How were you able to land so easily?"

"I—." Hmm, that was a legitimate question. He slowed his pace in thought. "I don't know. I've landed on my feet for as long as I can remember. I don't know why."

Satisfied that she would get no more out of him, but by no means satisfied with what she got out of him, she lengthened her stride, and they tore after their prey once more. Building after building passed them by, and the figure fleeing ahead of them was no longer darting into any of them. He turned down an alley, the couple following suit. When the narrow passage ended in a small plaza, he paused a moment as if to think, then hurtled down an even narrower alley branching off. It was between the back of a three-storey building and a very high wall that probably was supposed to guard the governor's property (lot of good that did). The roof of the house cast the alley into black shadows. "Where do you think he's going?"

"To the jungle, where we'll have no chance of finding him."

They looked down the dark, tight passageway, invisible broken wagons and beams littering the ground. "The question is: can we find him in _this?_" An acrid tang bit at her nose. "Wait, wait—I can smell fear-scent."

James looked at her sharply, perplexed. "Come again?"

"I remember it from the Warriors Realm—every cat could smell the fear coming off the cats that had been chased by Porthos. I guess the strongest fear-scent—the one that even a human can smell—must be fear incarnate."

"Well don't just stand there driveling on about it—follow the trail!"

"Oh yeah—this way!" and she took off into the darkness (and after tripping over a piece of rubbish, opted to take a slower pace.)

James squeezed in behind her, his shoulders mere inches from either side of the alley. Apprehension was creeping up his spine as they moved swiftly—sometimes climbing—and he assumed that it was the effect that being so near to Fear caused. But when he heard Amy cry out in surprise, just before reaching the sunny light at the end of the passage, he knew it had been a warning from his intuition. He would have drawn his sword, were there room enough to do so. He would have fired his pistol had he been sure of his target. And he would have run in and tackled their adversaries into the light were there not the possibility of facing a sword in his gut (not a pleasant experience.) But luckily, he had an invaluable advantage. _"How many are there?"_

"_Two, and they've got a hold of me—one on either side, and me in the middle."_

"_Weapons?"_

"_Swords and pistols, but none drawn. They probably think me helpless. I kind of tripped right over them."_

Satisfied with their obliviousness, he rushed forward, taking hold of the middle form which he now knew was Amy, shouldering the two thieves into the walls, and burst into the sunlight. The two instantly turned, swords drawn, to face the pirates advancing on them (rather than run and risk a shot in the back.) "Well well! If it isn't the _Admiral_," one sneered mockingly. "Haven't seen him in ages."

"Thought he was dead," his partner added.

"Do they know you?" Amy enquired.

"I'm afraid you both were gravely mistaken."

The lass winced. "Ooo, bad pun."

"Does he want to play?" pirate one growled.

"Shall we make him pay?" the other continued.

Both pirates finished, "Let's find out!" and leapt at James and the girl.

Norrington shoved his aunt behind him and easily parried their attacks, although taking on both adversaries would be a difficult task. "Amy, go after Jack."

"But—"

"That's an _order_."

"I can't run as fast as you."

"You also cannot fight as well as me—now go!" He would not be swayed. Assuring herself that they would meet up again later, she thrust her cutlass into his grasp and raced away.

She sprinted after Fear, but it was a losing race, and the distance between them was growing and growing. She finally came to a stop due to her lack of endurance, doubled over, hands braced against her knees, puffing for breath and watching the shrinking form, crying, "'Curse these genetically stubby legs!'" ... Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned her head to see a horse hitched to a cart outside a dusty, stuccoed nondescript building. She stared at it for a moment, then looked back at Fear, before bowing her head to catch her breath.

An idea came to her and, checking to make sure her quarry was still in sight, she raced to unhitch the gelding, vaulted onto his back, and kicked him into a gallop. They breezed after Fear, the wind blowing her hair and whipping her steed's mane in her face. She had to reach up and pull her new hat down more securely onto her head to keep it from blowing away.

The gap between Ames and Fear was rapidly diminishing—but so was the distance between Fear and the jungle! She urged her mount faster and faster to catch up, the horse's hoof beats drumming in time with the intense chase music playing in her head. They were mere feet behind him when he crashed into the jungle. Her horse leapt over the bushes and thundered after the form as it disappeared into the trees, but alas, they soon lost him to the green. She pulled her mount to a stop, dismounting to analyze the situation. She could still smell the fear-scent, but as a human nose is not meant for tracking, she couldn't pinpoint Fear. Taking a deep breath and laying a calming hand on the gelding's neck, she closed her eyes in concentration and entered its mind, communicating to it to follow the smell of Fear. At first it did not understand, since the act of tracking by scent is predatory, but she was able to liken the act to more prey-oriented themes, like finding the best patch of grass or a hidden treat, and it obediently raised its nose to the air. Almost at once it found the scent and, as soon as she had vaulted onto its back, took off after their quarry. They sped through the jungle, gaining on Fear, as could be inferred by the horse's growing excitement. He may in fact have thought he was searching out sugar cubes.

It was nearly half an hour into the chase when Ames realized they had gone in a circle. Fear was being creative and trying to use his own very obvious scent to throw them off his trail. Pulling the steed to a stop—and unsuccessfully trying to dodge a branch to the face—"Ow! Dangit!"—she evaluated the situation. How far away could he be? What kind of place would he hide in? _Hmm,_ she thought to herself. _If I were afraid of __**everything**__ and was being pursued by a horseman, I would A: run around in circles, B: roll in some wild garlic or other smelly plants to confuse my scent, C: find a river and cross it with the hopes that my pursuer would lose my scent, or D: all of the above. Well, that settles it. Pony, it's time to sniff for garlic._

Sure enough, there were several stinky herbs nearby, and upon locating the only scent that had _moved_, they set off after it.

The jungle eventually gave way to a wide river. The horse still had the scent and it paddled strongly across the river without much hesitation. However, once its hooves touched solid land and it began to sniff again, it was unable to pick up the scent. They would have to search up and down the bank to find it again.

But he was close. So close. A disconcerted feeling had settled over her shoulders. She struggled to control that feeling so that the gelding would not perceive her momentary weakness. She guided her mount after that emotion, and as the feeling grew stronger the horse once again found the scent and they were off.

The dapple grey bounded through the trees, jumping over bushes, ducking under branches, loyally mindful of its rider. They were getting closer and closer: she could feel it. The horse slowed down as the trees gave way to a small clearing. There was a rocky hill at the other end, and set into its side was a dark, shadowed cave. Suddenly the horse gave a great heave and jumped down a steep embankment. It would have been impossible to get to had she not been riding a horse: the glade was surrounded by a thick barrier of thorns, brambles, and burrs growing as high as the rocky walls. How was she going to get back up the hill? It was easier to jump over and down an obstacle than up. _Oh well, worry about that later,_ she decided. She dismounted and the horse trotted to the entrance of the cave and whinnied. Praising him, she weighed her options. She would need his nose, but a dark, enclosed space might spook the horse. Praying against disaster and humming the transformation music from Beauty and the Beast, she lay her hand on its neck and it shrunk until it had become a beagle, and its bridle a collar. She picked up his leash and allowed him to lead her into the cave, trying to move as silently as possible so that Fear would not hear them and move deeper into the cave.

As shadows and darkness and the unknown surrounded her, she felt her heart begin to beat faster with apprehension. Was something going to happen? Or was this feeling only caused by her proximity to fear-incarnate? She couldn't tell, and it frustrated her; For the first time, she couldn't trust her gut. There was a torch in a socket on the wall, an unloaded pistol hanging beside it. She took both and used the flintlock to ignite the torch and light their way.

Some distance into the passage, a shape appeared, just outside the flickering light of the torch. She swung around to see, and dropped the light with a shriek. Glowing eerily in the light of the flame was a skeleton, chained to the wall by its wrists, wisps of hair and old clothing still clinging to the bones. Having also dropped the leash, the dog was sniffing furiously at it. _Fear would have been afraid of this, too, wouldn't he?_ she wondered. _So he can't have come this way._ So then where would he be? His scent had led them here. Truly a baffling dilemma. "Come on, puppy, he must have gone somewhere else." The dog gave no sign that he had heard her, still fixated on the bones."Get away from that thing—hey—come on." Too afraid of the skeleton to approach and lead the canine away, she resorted to entering its mind. What she encountered were memories of small, off-white statuettes. _Ivory?_ 'Puppy' was associating the smell of the bones with the smell of ivory. Three thoughts passed through her mind just then. The first was in despair of how many elephants must have died to make this frightful marker. The second was that the dog, as a horse, must have carted ivory items, for it to be familiar with the scent. And the third, and perhaps most relevant thought was that Fear must have known it was fake and gone on deeper into the caves. Carefully picking up the torch and retrieving the dog's leash, they headed deeper in.

The passage soon narrowed until it was little more than a cleft between boulders, and this led on for a while. Amy would have begun to feel claustrophobic had she not been confident that an open space awaited them. Several signs had alerted her to this: one was the slight zephyr of fresh air blowing from their destination. Another was the echoing: with every movement they made, no matter how silent in the open, there was an echo—footsteps, claws clicking on the stone, Amy's heavy breaths, still irregular as she recovered from the initial chase. And then... "Shiny?" A small glinting thing had reflected the light. She leaned down to examine it. It was a tiny golden nugget, about the size of a match head. She pocketed it—might fetch her a nice...er..._something_ or other at the market. Like a sea bag. _Or a monkey_, she thought with amusement before the impatient canine pulled her onward.

They soon came upon another nugget , this time more of a flake, like a book of mica. After that, flecks of gold dust grew more and more abundant, until the ground on which they walked was glittering and sparkling in the dancing torch light. Ames thought it might have been an old gold mine or something. And then, like that, the close and brightly lit walls fell away to reveal a gargantuan cavern, filled with a darkness that her torch did little to permeate. Something was glinting beyond the reaches of the light, and she dared not approach it for fear of booby traps. Her hand met the wall as she paused to control her fear—the manifestation must be in here—and it smacked against something jutting out from the stone. It was a tray, and it stretched off into the darkness, giving the impression that it wound around the whole 'room.' Her fingers, where they had dipped into the tray, were covered with a black substance, which she raised to her nose and verified as; "Black powder." Acting on a whim—and praying that the cave wouldn't implode—she dipped the torch into the tray. The gunpowder ignited, and flames sped down the tray and around the room, giving light to what had only been a glimmer in the shadows before, and now dazzled her eyes and hitched her breath.

A massive stock of loot was piled in the center of the cavern, taking up much of its floor space, some piles reaching above Amy's head. Near the entrance she had come through was carved into the floor these words:

_**Here lies the Treasure  
in bulk of one Captain Jack  
Sparrow. If ye have been  
clever enough to find it, partake  
of it as you Wish, with no Fears  
of being pursued.  
Just leave a Wee bit for me,  
Savvy?**_

"So that's why Fear came here. This must be a pretty safe-feeling place for Jack to hide his treasure here," she announced to the beagle. However, instead of continuing her search, Ames strolled through the hills of treasure (though responsibly leaving the dog to guard the entrance.) It all seemed very familiar, really. She realized with a jolt that much of it was the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. She recalled a scene from the upcoming _Dead Man's Chest_ that had leaked onto the internet mere _days_ before, where Mr. Gibbs had alluded to the cursed island "gone pear-shaped, and the treasure with it." Jack must have shipped the treasure from Isla de Muerta to here and used the sinking of the island as a cover, all with his crew unawares. "Jack Sparrow, you are an evil man!" she cried, her voice ricocheting off walls and back around her. He had cheated his crew of the riches they had worked so hard to acquire! She listened to the echoes of her voice, which mixed with one another, distorting her words to say "evil woman" back at her. She sighed. "You're right. I prob'ly woulda done the same thing." A necklace caught her eye, which she picked up and examined: an intricately flowing and weaving of gold wisps on a black-gold chain. "Well, you said to take what you wanted," she reasoned, clipping it around her neck. "Besides, if it ends up being _that_ important to you, then I can always give it back.

A warning bark alerted her to Fear's presence. She whirled around to see Fear cowering against one of the piles of gold near the cave's entrance. He had tried to sneak out unnoticed, and had met the dog instead. The hound was advancing on him, teeth bared in a snarl. "Call 'im off!" Fear cried. "P-please! Call him off!"

"Will you run away if I do?" The manifestation made no response, continuing to whimper and guard his face with his arms. She stood beside the dog, a fist on her hip. "If you do, I shall set him after you."

"N-no! I won't run."

Ames dropped her imposing countenance victoriously. "Pup–belay that." The dog returned to calm-submissive, and he looked up at her, tail wagging. "Good boy," she praised him, giving him a pat on the head.

Fear's trembling began to subside, and he peeked out at them from behind his arms before lowering them. "Y-you're not one of the b-bad men."

"We're not here to hurt you," she assured him, squatting down to his level. She suddenly comprehended his words. "Bad men? What do you mean?"

"B-black suits and m-masks. N-no eyes, no m-mouths. No faces."

"Those are the men who kidnaped Jack," she realized aloud. "You saw them?" The intensity of her voice spooked Fear, and she struggled to calm herself. "What did they do?"

"Th-they came after me. Tried t-t-to catch m-me."

"I wonder why that is." Keeping the dog behind her, she reached out a hand. He stared at it fearfully. "I am not associated with those men in black. All I want to do is help you. I'll even bring you someplace safe where they cannot find you. Trust me." After several moments of mental debate, he grasped her hand and she helped him up. "Now, let's get out of here." She turned toward the entrance.

"Y-you can't go out that w-way."

"What?"

"The...the thorns—they curl in w-with stakes a-a-and knives. Everything tipped with p-poison. If you try to j-jump over them, you'll get caught in them a-and never get out."

"Hmm." She leaned her chin on her fist in though. _This is Jack we're talking about. He must have made a secret way out that only he would think of._ An idea came to her. "Fear—take me to the place where you would feel safest hiding from someone."

He thought for several moments, then set off through the entrance, leading her back down the passage. She thought he was leading her back to the outside until he veered off toward the ivory skeleton. He stopped and stared at it for a while, bemused, as if he didn't understand why he'd come here. He picked up what looked like a rock beside the skeleton—it turned out to be a cleverly folded blanket—and stared at it as though it would reveal an answer.

There was a small hole in the wall where the cloth had been, and Ames examined it carefully. There were a few "bones" scattered along the wall beneath it that had fallen from the skeleton. That broken femur right there was about the same size and shape as that abnormal hole. "No," she muttered thoughtfully, "...It couldn't be that simple..." She picked up the bone inserted its end, and turned it like a key. There was a sharp click and rumbling followed, which caused Fear to, well, be fearful. "It's all right, mate. I'm pretty sure that this is our way out." And she was right. A section in the wall moved to reveal a steep flight of steps spiraling upward. "Come on. I'll go first, and the dog ahead of us." Fear dropped the canvas so that it covered the hole and timidly followed her up the steps. As soon as they were inside the chamber, the hidden stone slid back into place, sealing them inside. Fear whimpered. Amy held his hand reassuringly, and said in her most optimistic innocent-little-girl voice, "Nowhere to go but up." And up they climbed—and up, and up. At last, something glared in the light of the torch. The dog was sitting on the top step, scratching at what appeared to be a metal trap door, wagging his tail excitedly.

"I don't want to be here any more," Fear clung to her arm.

"We won't be here for long, mate! Get up here with me and help me open this. Ready? On three. One–two–_three!_" They pushed against the door, and with a great creaking, it flopped open, slamming against the ground. Ames climbed out, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. She helped her companion out and looked around. They were on a large rock formation, which seemed to be surrounded by a sea of green. Treetops, she realized. They were on top of the stone hill, out of view of anyone and anything that could not see above the canopy.

A single fault, perhaps a fathom wide and several long, broke the top of the hill. It was filled with greenery; grasses, small plants. One single large-leafed tree rose from the crack, its trunk only a few inches thick. A small spring bubbled in the shade in that miniature oasis, fed by a tiny trickle whose source could not be discerned. "Perfect!" the girl cried. "I'm parched!" And as she kneeled and drank from the tiny pool, something glinted in its depths. She reached in and pulled out a fistful of emeralds and sapphires, cut and uncut. "So that's your game, is it?" There were plenty more in there. Ames replaced her handful to its watery bed—she had already taken something and could not bring herself to take more.

"We–we're terribly high up," she heard Fear stammer with his high, trembling voice. She turned around to see him staring off the far edge, where the sea of trees did not extend to, the hound sitting beside him. She joined them and discovered that the cliff reached straight down to the ocean several hundred feet below. There was a small bay at its base, rocky and jagged, water frothy and treacherous. The remains of a rowboat floated in the shelter of a boulder.

"So no one can get in this way, either," she murmured. However, there was a small niche that ran the height of the cliff, and she spied a knotted rope. "He must climb with that if he comes by sea. But how do _we _get out of here?"

The dog's curiosity showed them the answer. They discovered a narrow, steep stairway, perhaps two feet wide, running down one side of the cliff, and stopping when it reached the level of the jungle. It was a dangerous, long path, which did not help Amy's acrophobia, and she would have poofed them all to safety had she not been so tired from their "little" expedition. Thus, they crawled down the incline on their stomachs. Their hands—and paws—touched the lush grass of the jungle, and they praised their fortune that they hadn't slipped or fallen. They sat for several minutes, recovering from such a nerve-racking experience, before Ames finally decided that they should return to town. She had been up all night on the town with James, and this adventure had exhausted her remaining energy. Wait—"James!" she cried. "We have to go back and make sure he's okay!" And she took off at a sprint back toward town.

They had slowed to a walk by the time they had reached town. Amy, remembering that she had borrowed a horse, communicated with a questioning tone happiness with life to the dog. The hound responded with a fondness of his human and no memory of any maltreatment. "You have a good life to return to, then." Which was good, because she had been prepared to take him with her at any sign of bad treatment or living conditions. She took a deep breath and concentrated, her hand on the beagle's head as she summoned the strength to turn him back into a horse. "Thanks, mate. You've been infinitely helpful," she said gratefully, patting him on the neck. The gelding butted her affectionately with his nose and a nicker, then trotted happily off to find his home.

A sharp pang reminded her of James, and she sprinted back toward the old, deserted marketplace where she had left him to face those two other men. She was about to round the corner into the area when a terrible sense stopped her in her tracks. She looked at Fear. "What's over there may be something scary. I want you to stay right here, and don't come out unless I tell you to, okay?"

"O–okay."

"Promise you won't run?"

"P-promise," he assured her, sitting against the wall and drawing his knees to his chin.

_Out of Fear comes Trust_, she mused to herself. Taking a deep breath, she crept around the corner of the building. It was deathly silent, and drops of blood spattered the dusty road under her boots. She kept her eyes plastered to the ground, afraid to look up. At last, a shape came into her peripheral vision, and she instinctively looked at it. The motionless form held her frozen, unable to move, a hand pressed against her mouth, and she gasped, and continued to gasp, on the verge of tears, on the verge of hyperventilation. There, most likely dead, lay one of the pirates James had been fighting off. Blood pooled around him, and his face was pressed into the dust.

At last, she was able to force out a word. "James!" she screamed. There was a moan, and she whirled around to see the body of the other pirate, prone and eagled by a collapsed pile of crates. "Oh my _God!_" she cried, quickly losing control. "_What have you done?_" There was another moan, and some of the crates in the pile shifted. She raced over to the splintered heap and frantically tossed piece after piece out of the way in a frenzied dig to find someone she was sure she had begun to hate.

At last, she unearthed the form of the former Commodore. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was panting as though he couldn't breathe properly. His clothes were torn, and he was covered in blood that was more his own than his adversaries'. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain. "James!" she cried again, eyes red with unshed tears, about ready to slap him and accuse him of...

"Amy," he croaked.

"You killed—you—you—yh," she began to sob.

He cut her off before she could finish the accusation. "B-black—masks," he struggled to say. Her eyes widened, and before she could ask, he passed out, leaving Amy frightened and confused.

* * *

Aha, another chapter! Leave a review and tell me what you think. Hopefully I'll update soon, and it's gonna be totally awesome!


	3. Men in Black

Aha! Another chapter! I may or may not be uploading this from my Computer Apps class. Shh! Don't tell! XD

**Chapter Three: The Men in Black**

"_Black Masks."_

Those words echoed in Amy's mind as she watched Tia Dalma coming in and out of that room to get supplies. Shortly after James had fainted in Tortuga, she had poofed the three of them—the third being Fear—back to the bayou. As soon as she had seen Norrington, Tia had set to work tending his injuries. Amy, more paranoid now, after the excursions of the day, furiously saw her attentions as other than what they were.

At last, her own care for his welfare outweighed her assumptions of his murdering the pirates, and she crept into the bedroom to see him. He was conscious, but just barely. A wooden shiver jutted out from between two of his ribs, and something which had been lodged in his shoulder now lay on a table beside him. His shirt and coat, torn and stained, hung over the foot of his bed. His eyes, where they had been staring at the ceiling, rolled to see her, and he turned his head to smile reassuringly at her, albeit weakly. "Did you get him?" he whispered nonchalantly.

She did not move from the door. "Yeah."

He smiled again, triumphantly. "And are you all right?"

"I might be," she grunted, "once I get an explanation."

"It will 'ave to wait," Tia Dalma replied as she came in again. She went to his side and rested a fingertip on top of the shiver. "Brace yaself, Com'dore." And she barely gave him time to before she pulled the wood out of him with a slight, unconcerned smile, bordering on amusement. James let out a strangled gasp, which he tried to suppress with gritted teeth. He blinked away the mist in his eyes from the pain, looking up at her in gratitude. She picked up a coconut chalice and offered it to him. "Drink, an' sleep now." He obeyed, downing the deliciously-scented liquid. Within moments, his eyes blinked shut, and he was fast asleep. The mystic left the rest of the beverage on the table, beside the shiver and that other item. "You canna' be angry wit' him for somet'ing ya da not know him done," she scolded the girl softly as she walked past. "Get some res' now. Ya sleepin' on ya feet."

"Mmh," the lass grunted noncommitally, and continued to lean against the wall with crossed arms long after the mystic had left. She needed to think, and for some reason, it always seems easier to think when a sleeping person is in the room. ...As long as they don't snore loudly and obnoxiously... After several minutes, she approached the unconscious form. How could someone with a past like his sleep so peacefully? Her eyes wandered to the bandages, and she knew that these injuries could not be from either of the men he'd fought. He was much too skilled for that... Wasn't he? She sighed. _Maybe I'm just imagining him to be more than he really is._

She turned to the night-stand, and the thing that had been lodged in James' shoulder caught her eye. She gasped at its lethal appearance, and was awed by its foreignness. It was a single, crescent-moon-shaped blade, about six or seven inches in diameter. The outer half was gold in colour, and dull in the middle of the curve for holding, but sharp on the ends to catch in flesh. The inner half was silver and sharpened to a lethal edge the whole curve. _Black masks_... What could it mean?

—

"When Amy went after Fear, I chose to stay behind to dissuade those two pirates from following us. It took a while, but eventually I was able to wrest the sword away from the one and threaten him. That was when they surrendered. It was at this time that, as I was releasing the pirate, there was a great lurch of the ground, and a sound—oh, such a sound!—shook us to the dust. In the middle of the air, it seemed like a great gaping hole tore open - as though there was a great gash in the sky, a bleeding, swirling wound - except instead of blood, what dropped out of it were a dozen men, dressed entirely in black from head to toe. Nothing was exposed; not their faces, nor even their eyes.

"They came at us like sharks to blood, and we had no chance. They moved so swiftly. Before I could even wind up to attack, my target would be suddenly behind me. I did manage to catch one with my sword, but when it went into him, he disappeared into wisps of smoke as though he were little more than an illusion.

"They had these curving, oddly-shaped swords with which they hacked at us. We could parry some of their attacks, but they moved so swiftly that we could not shield ourselves from injury. They also carried shuriken, which were easier to dodge than their direct attacks, although difficult to anticipate. But along with the throwing-stars, they had what looked like throwing-moons. Those caught in our swords and threw us off-balance. At last, after several minutes, one of the pirates went down. His comrade began to fight all the more fiercely, but then several of them ganged up on him and when next I saw him, he did not move again.

"Of course I was by this time very angry. What had any of us done to deserve the attack? We whom they had never seen before. (Well, at least I _think_ I have not seen them. I do not think I know any person who can move as they can.) I was fighting with all of my strength and skill, but it was not nearly enough. A throwing-moon was in my shoulder, and this distracted me. Before I could react, all of them as one were upon me, and I found myself hefted up and hurled through the air. I landed on the pile of crates, which collapsed under my impact and impaled me with a splintered plank.

"One of the men pushed away one of the crates so that he could see me, and said in a deep voice, 'Where is the Guardian?' I told him I did not know. He put his hand over my open eyes, and I felt a jolt go through me. My entire life flashed before my eyes in an instant. Every memory I could contrive. Every secret. Every lie. Every deed. 'He knows,' he cried to the others who, so I could see, were interrogating the pirates in a similar manner—they were still alive, it seemed. At once the others ceased and looked to him in what I can only fathom was astonishment (being unable to see their expressions). However, he continued in I suppose a dissappointed tone, 'I have checked his mind. He is searching for the remnants of the Shattering. A comrade of his. An enemy. A brother. Not a brother. His mind is strange. However, he has learned somehow that what we had henceforth thought to be a Guardian was not so. There appear to be some sort of restrictions on what a Guardian can and cannot be.'

"'Then there is nothing more for us to do here until we discover what a Guardian really is,' another replied. 'Time is almost up. We must move on.' And with that, he made a scratching motion in the air, and appeared to literally rip open the air with his nails.

"The man who had read my mind turned back to me. 'You must associate with some magic in order to find those pieces. But since you aren't associated with the real Guardian, I shall let you live. For now.' He jumped up and leapt into the tear, and as soon as he was through, it closed with such force as caused more crates to topple over on top of me.

"It was about an hour after this—unless I passed out—that Amy found me."

—

Amy walked into the main room of the shack a few mornings later, and, with a yawned tune and a stretch, attempted to conjure some breakfast. "Whaaaaat?" What had appeared instead seemed to be a red, white and blue bear mascot suit.

"Teddie?" she gasped.

"Where am I? Who're you? This isn't the TV! This is so confusing - it's un-bear-able!"

"Sorry, sorry, I'll put you back, sorry!" she apologized hastily, waving her hand. The creature disappeared. "Jeez, I wanted cold pizza, and all I end up with is a character from Persona 4. Go fig."

James had explained himself the morning after Ames had poofed them to Tia Dalma's. The mystic had explained that the men in black were most likely in line with the people trying to destroy the Realms. She had also assured the lass that both pirates were still alive and would probably survive. "However," she had continued, "dose men will try to interfere wit de gadderin' of Jack's pieces if they tink it will t'reaten deir mission. You must learn to defen' him life."

Amy yawned again and poofed (much more accurately) some leftover pizza from her refrigerator at home, sitting in the window to munch sleepily as she tried to wake up. Normally she was never hungry for breakfast, but recently she had been hungrier in her waking hours. The front door creaked open, and James staggered in, a sword clenched in his left hand, and his bad arm in a sling. He stood in the doorway, attempting to catch his breath. "Dude, James, what are you doing out so early with that sword?"

"I need to train."

"You need to rest," she countered, turning around to face him. He hesitated, regarding her cautiously with an I-feel-your-judgement-but-I'm-not-sure-what-I've-done sort of look—but wasn't she just giving him her do-what-I-say-or-else look? She didn't know. "Why is it so urgent that you need to train, anyway?"

"I was defeated. If it is my job to protect you, and I cannot win against those from whom I should protect you, then what use have I?" He glared at the table. "And if those men are now beginning to attack us, then I need to become stronger, faster, and more alert as soon as possible."

"That's all very well, but if you end up hurting yourself even more when you _should_ be resting, what good will you be _then?_"

"De girl is right. Listen to her," Tia advised him from the doorway.

James turned to her with a frustrated frown. "Well I can't bloody just sit around until I am well enough!" he snapped, wheeling around to go back outside.

"You wouldn't be just sitting around. You would be getting better," the lass assured snappishly. Jeez, stupid male pride. You wound it even slightly and it's like having a moody teenage girl with bulging muscles and awesome facial hair. "You would be trying your best to heal quickly, so that when you train you can be at the top of your game instead of being hindered by your injuries."

He paused, turning back to consider her seriously, as though he were trying to pick out something different about her. "My game," he repeated, deep in thought. At last, he broke into a smile. "I have an idea."

—

"As dey are, de man'festations you've a'ready caught are many in number and harder ta guard. If ya want to keep dem safe from harm, ya mus' mold dem into single form," Tia Dalma proposed.

Amy stared at her dumbly. "Wecandothat?"

Teacher nodded. "But it wi' not be complete."

"I won't d-do it!" They both looked up to see Fear standing at the foot of the steps. "I w-won't be put into an-nother form."

"Hey, easy now," Amy soothed. "I know things seem scary now. And they're going to keep getting scarier. Do you remember a few days ago when I promised you that I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe? This is how I must keep that promise."

"Can't you keep me safe here?"

She shook her head with a sad smile. "No. Or else I wouldn't agree to doing this. Don't worry, you'll still be there. Trust me." Since Trust had been discovered within Fear, it had been showing itself often, and it showed itself now. "It won't be right away, anyway. I still have to learn how to do it."

"And for dat, you mus' step up ya trainin'," the priestess said.

In the days following, Ames was tested to the best of her abilities and was forced to make them even better. She was even required to better her physical skills so that her magic would travel through her more easily. She was tied by her ankles to the branch of a tree and told to do sit-ups. Eventually, she was even required to untie herself and climb the twenty or so feet down, all without the aid of magic.

At one point in the following days, she stood on a tall stump on the muddy bank with a wooden staff in her hands. The objective was to avoid projectiles without falling off. She jumped and crouched and leaned as nuts, shells, rocks, crabs, branches, mud, and anything else within reach were thrown at her, using the staff sometimes to deflect them, and other times as a counter-balance. "Focus!" James cried, hurling a snail shell in her direction. She heard the air whistling in its cavities—for it was just out of her peripheral vision, and she had not enough time to turn and see it coming—and leaned backward to dodge it, pitching dangerously on her perch and slipping off, but managing to catch the edge. After dangling for a moment or two, attempting to keep her feet from touching the ground, she climbed back up and resumed her position. "She's getting better," he commented to Teacher, standing beside him.

"Yes. But she has long way to go. Even wit' your arm a'sling, you could easily do what she do now."

"How is it that you know my limits before even _I_ do?"

She smiled at him, a hand resting painfully, purposefully, on his injured shoulder. "I can see what odders cannot."

He blinked his acknowledgment, giving her an imploring look so that she might release her grip, and hurled another handful of stones and shells at the girl.

At last, Tia ended the session and called the girl down. "Ahhhhh," the lass sighed as she sank into a wooden chair. "Can't wait to go to sleep. What time is it?"

"Nearly noon," James answered.

"Aah, so early!"

"You will have de chance rest a bit before ya train again t'night. But first," Teacher added, "where is ya sword?"

Ames held out her hand, and her cutlass appeared with a burst of light. "Right here," she announced, sitting up. "Do I need it for something?"

"You must temper it become resistant t' magic."

James' brows rose. "She can do that?"

"If she have confidence in it." The priestess crossed to the opposite side of the table and ducked down out of sight. James and Ames exchanged expressions before the latter looked away.

"Amy—," he began to say, when Tia Dalma rose again, hefting an old chest onto the table.

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"Is my library o' spells an' charms." She undid the lock and dumped them all onto the table.

James picked one up. Its title read: _Common Spells for the Everyday Mind Control_. His grip tightened on the book as he stared at it in silent shock.

"Where did you get all of these?"

"When ya get paid as I do, chil', ya can get any'ting." She picked up a small, thick book in black and gold, and tossed it to the lass. "Dere is a spell in here can do what needs be done."

"So wait, I need spells and charms to get things done, too?"

"Only fa t'ings you do not fully unnerstand. If you have no song, ya have no medium for magic. Spells take its place."

The girl flipped open the spellbook, skimming over its pages with a calm curiosity. "Which one am I looking for?"

"One fa' protection an' deflection a' magic."

"Well, here's one conveniently under the same title. I'm game."

Teacher nodded sagely and presented the cutlass, holding it so that it lay flat across her palms. "Ya mus' have de olive branch dipped in oil."

The lass conjured both and, dabbing the oil on the blade, she recited the incantation:

"_Magic attracts magic, and so it repels, and can damage a fellow or may save his soul.  
One's only defense against such a power is magic alone to deflect other magic.  
And so I call upon ancient magics to charm this item for protection against direct and indirect magics."_

There was a windchiming sound, which may or may not have come from the lass, whose magic was based in music, and the blade glowed gently for a few moments. "Wow, that didn't rhyme at _all_," the girl commented. "I mean, I guess it doesn't have to, but it always seems cooler. It wasn't meaningful or beautiful or eloquent, either."

"Not all magic is as you espect."

The lass took the proffered sword, her eyes running up and down its length. "So how do we know if it worked?"

"Block a magical attack an' you'll see."

Ames pointed her sword at an imaginary foe. "Then I'll be ready to meet that adve'sary!" she declared in a thicker accent than usual. "Ew, did I just talk like that? Man, my friends _already_ think I'm putting on a fake accent. What'll they think of me if I start talking like that?"

"Hey, wait a minute—_I_ talk like—."

"Get some food an' rest," Tia interrupted. "Ya need ya ene'gy for tonight's trainin'."

"Huh? Okay." She retreated, exhausted, into the next room, sinking into an armchair and curling up in a ball for a nap and setting her cutlass against the table beside her. After several yawns and a few minutes' daydreaming of having cat ears that would perk up when she heard something and sag when she was sad, she fell into a restless slumber. It was unfamiliar—and strangely satisfying—to sleep during the day. Normally, she could not sleep while the sun was out unless she was truly exhausted. Her present unconsciousness speaks for itself.

After a time, unable to further his own training because of his arm, and at a loss for something to do, James crept into the room for a book. It ended up sitting uselessly beside him on the bed as he watched the girl sleep. It was a short while before he saw a pair of brown cat ears poking through her hair. "What—?" He smiled wryly with a snort and approached to examine them. However, it was not long before his attention was drawn to her expression instead.

Her brow was creased and her mouth frowned, and a hand was clenching at her maroon blanket. "Amy?" he whispered, gently moving a strand of hair out of her face. At the touch, she suddenly tensed up and curled into a tighter ball. _Bad dream_, he understood, and resolved to stay there so that he could comfort her as soon as it woke her.

She seemed to relax after a while, although the frown remained. Finally, she opened her eyes, already wet with tears, and allowed herself to cry, thinking she was alone. She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she saw its owner, she began to gasp, almost as though she were being strangled, again and again and did not stop until he drew her into a hug with her head pressed against his chest. She proceeded to sob uncontrollably, as girls with truly horrific dreams are apt to do.

After some minutes the tears stopped and she struggled away from him, staggering unsteadily for the door. "Amy—." She stopped in her tracks at his voice, and did not turn around to face him. "You–ah–may want to, er, take care of those ears... Not those, pet, the other ones."

She reached up dazedly to feel the new ears before her hand fell numbly to her side and she continued on her way with a shuffle. James stayed where he was, staring at the ground, and listened to the sound of a creaking door, the slosh of water in the basin which was splashed against the lass's face.

She returned after a short while, a completely different person, toweling dry her face, fully recovered from that which plagues all who sleep, spirits lifted, feline ears successfully removed. It was as if nothing had happened.

"What's wrong, pet?" James asked in little more than a mumble, still sitting by the chair and not looking up.

She paused in her drying, bent over sideways. "Nothing. I had a bad dream and you startled me. That's all."

He rose and strode straight into her personal bubble. "But there's more - even before this, isn't there?"

She scoffed, not meeting his eye. "I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Do not lie to me," he retorted severely. "Your cheer toward me is little more than an act, and your courtesies have been as like ice."

"I don't know what you—."

"Who do you think you are fooling?" he bent down so that they were nose to nose, gaze boring into her with a terrible intensity. Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step away. His countenance drooped with realization. "You're afraid of me," he said in such a dejected tone that it about broke your heart, as he retreated to sit mortified on the bed.

"Well yeah. I mean, did you see your face just then? _Sca-ry_," she attempted to brush everything away.

This brought him no comfort. "Yes, but there is more to this, isn't there?"

"Ha. I couldn't—"

"_Please_, Amy—I cannot bear to have you look at me that way."

Her cheerful composure dissolved, and there was a long and tense silence. "I don't mean to hurt you, James," she at last said softly, not looking at him.

"You've been like this ever since that day in Tortuga," he said slowly. He shook his head helplessly and looked at the ceiling. "What could have happened to cause such a rift between us? Is it because I would not let you fight?"

"No, no—it isn't anything like that. It's just...when I came back to find you and saw the pirates, I thought they were dead, and I thought—I thought..." She was beginning to tear up, and took a deep breath to calm herself. James took the opportunity to finish her statement.

"You thought I had killed them. But—"

"You didn't. I know that."

"Then what is wrong?"

"Well, it made me realize that—" She suddenly halted, then shook her head. "Nevermind. It's stupid."

"If it is having this sort of effect on us, then it cannot be stupid, love."

"But I—"

"Amy," he silenced her softly, shoulders hunched against his troubles, hands balling into fists in the sheets. "Please."

There was another long silence, so intense that it seemed like either of them was about to burst. Then... "Even just thinking that you would have murdered them made me realize that I wouldn't put it past you to have done it. I mean, that's what your job is, right? You kill anyone who seems like a threat. I mean yeah, I guess your excuse is that you're protecting people and everything, but when you get right down to it, you're little more than a murderer yourself."

This truly hurt him. "We had this discussion not long ago, in the winter when we were helping the homeless. I, in a moment of weakness and self reproach, called myself a murderer, no better than those of whom I was ridding the world." Her shoulders were sagging a fraction with each word, hands balled so tightly into fists that they were shaking. "And you had assured me that I was only following the law."

"Yeah, well I never actually thought about it."

"And this has made you afeard of me?"

"No! It just made me see you in a different light," she replied promptly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. She padded over to him, crouching before him, and reached for his hands. At first he withdrew, but she grasped his hands anyway, holding them in both of her own. "These hands..." She turned them so that they were palm-up. "These hands have been stained with the blood of countless and nameless men. They have torn the life from the body without hesitation." She rose and cupped his face in her hands, and touched her thumbs over his eyes for a moment before looking into them. "These eyes have burned with rage, and have been the last that men have ever seen. They have glowed red. They have been the gaze of a demon that seeks only to take their lives, whether by the blade or by the hemp." She rested her forehead against his, trying once again not to cry, and put a hand on his chest. "This heart—has been willfully misguided—"

He suddenly took her hand in his. "Please stop. I will not try to justify my actions. All I can say is that I did what I knew was right. That aside," he added, "what exactly was your point, anyway?"

"All I was getting at was that it makes me see you differently. I mean, I can't hold your hand without remembering that, nor look into your eyes, nor consider your heart without suddenly recalling the deaths that you are responsible for." He opened his mouth to say something, but she said it for him. "And I hate myself for it, because saying it out loud, it sounds so stupid, cuz it doesn't change who you are and it doesn't change the James I know. It's just that there's more to you and I don't know how to deal—no, no. You can't change the past. God, I'm such a dramatic teenage idiot."

"Amy—"

"I need cheese," she sniffled, rising and exiting the room, leaving James to stare after her with a confused, relieved smile. Women...

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Please leave a review, thanks!


	4. To  Tell or Not to Tell

Disclaimer: I've got enough deal with right now. If you think I'm going to risk a lawsuit by claiming this as my own, you're sorely mistaken.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Four: I'm Telling!**

It felt strange to be back at school again, after so much had happened. She had at last perfected her replica time-turner, and was able to go back so that hardly any time had passed - but even so, her friends greeted her as though she had been gone as long as she had, and it confused them that they missed her so much. However, even among the cheer of her friends and comrades, something felt very wrong. It seemed as though the world was tense, waiting for something to happen, but unsure what. Like a storm was fast approaching. As the day went by—and it was actually an unusually good day at school—Ames began to believe that the tension was related to the pending War of the Worlds. Her world was nearly bursting at the seams as it struggled to maintain its separation from the other Realms.

Amy herself was debating whether or not to take her friends into her confidence and tell them the truth about everything that was going on. Several opportune moments presented themselves to her throughout the day, but by school's end, every one of them had slipped through her fingers.

Her father picked her up, as usual (even though they lived less than a mile away), and as they drove toward home, the lass reflected on how big a secret this was becoming, and how big a lie she told her loved ones on a daily basis. She resolved to warn the world soon to be ready, and that until then, she should at least let her parents know about her personal side of the secret.

When they arrived at home, Amy called out a greeting and her mother's voice replied from the next room. The lass strode into the den and dropped her bag in the usual spot, answering her usual as her mum asked how the day had been. Her father came in about then and said to his wife, "Nothing happened over there, either."

"Happened? Thewhodidthewhatnow?"

"Nothing. That's just it. We've been worried all day, and no one knows why."

Amy's brows came together, and she made the reply she would have made before she had become aware of what was really going on: "Maybe it's the Apocalypse."

"Now now," her mother chuckled, "I'm sure it's nothing as bad as that."

_My dear woman, you have no idea,_ Ames thought guiltily. She should tell them. She should tell them now. "Hey, Mom...do you believe in the concept of parallel worlds?"

"Well, we do now. James is from another world—and you just got back from one yesterday. You missed church, you know."

"Yeah...I miscalculated a little..."

"Well, just try not to miss it next week," he father replied.

"How is whatever you're doing going, anyway?"

Ames hesitated. Opportune moment... Opportune moment... Now was the time to tell them everything. "Well... we've made a lot of progress—oh! Did I tell you I went to Tortuga?"

"You _what?_" Okay, maybe not _everything_... Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned that bit...

"Yeah, well, we went during the day, and besides I had James there to take care of me."

"Then how was it?"

"Interesting. Like going to a working historical town, only it's not historical, it's present. You know, ironically their library is very nice. I got a really nice hat, too." Which had, thankfully, been washed. Her mother expressed an interest in seeing it, and the girl, both relieved and frustrated at the waste of opportunity, eagerly left to go get it. When she showed it to her parents, they exclaimed that it was a very nice hat, and admired the plume. Well, that was it. The opportunity was gone, to be replaced with cheer and family bonding.

—

"Well you're quiet," her mother remarked amid a commercial break. The two were watching _Psych _together that evening.

"I'm just thinking." There was a short silence. "Mom, do you believe in magic?"

"I suppose to some extent—that's how you visit James."

"W-yeah, but what about magic in people?"

"Well—like the magic to inspire and make your dreams come true? Or to spiritually touch others and share the gift of Christ? I believe in that kind of magic..."

"No—no—" sigh. "I mean, like, _magic_. Sorcery. That kind of stuff."

"Not really. Why?"

"Well I..." _OPPORTUNE MOMENT OPPORTUNE MOMENT OPPORTUNE MOMENT!_ her brain was screaming at her. "I-I'm reading this book—really interesting—and it just kind of makes me think." _DARNIT!_

"You do know the difference between fiction and reality—," her mother was alarmed.

"Of course I do!" she reassured the woman. As her mum calmed, she went on. "It just got me thinking, that's all." _Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid..._

"Oh. Well, no. I don't believe in that kind of magic."

And so was wasted another most opportune moment...

—

"_Yes, tis tru',"_ Tia Dalma replied forebodingly when Ames contacted her and told her about conditions in her own world. _"D'ere is similar feeling here, alt'ough ver' faint an' hard t' detec'."_

"_Can you send James over? I need someone to talk to."_

Teacher chuckled in her mind. _"Ya have not told your luv' ones about ya powers?"_ She laughed again when the lass answered sheepishly. _"All de better. De comm'dore been lookin' for an escuse t'come. Him want t'try somet'ing in ya game-worl' ta help him train."_

"_Kingdom hearts? That's crazy."_ Pause. _"Okay, crazy enough to work, but still! Oh well. A commodore's gotta do what a commodore's gotta do, I guess. Either way, I'll be glad to see him. Well, let him know I'm opening a passage, will ya? Thanks. It'll be narrow, though—don't want it to further offset the world's balance any more than it already has been."_

"_Of course, chil'. But take warnin': de collision o' realms will cause destrucshun of any remainin' manifestations. Howeva, de reason dat collision so close is because dere is a link 'tween all de manifestations, thus linkin' all de realms dey in. De forms been loose sev'ral mont's. Much longer an' 'twill be too late. De links in the realms will cause a collision, an' de man'festations destroyed. You and ya comm'dore mus' find de nex' emotion as soon a' possible."_

Ames replied that they would return by week's end. The conversation thus ended, and James was poofed into her den. "Er... why are you wearing your armor?"

"Well it would have helped when I was facing those men in black," he replied. "And besides, when you put me into the game, you're going to make it so that I don't have any abilities or weapons that I couldn't possibly have in reality. The armour will help."

"An unending source of enemies to fight. Well, just don't go getting yourself killed. Donald can help you there—ask around. But come back sometimes, will you? We need to talk about some things, okay?"

He vowed that he would, and with a touch to the screen, he jumped into the game and sought any means to better his fighting—despite his injured arm still a-sling and lack of a video-game-character's superhuman abilities. "Good luck," she murmured to the television screen. "We're gonna need those newfangled skills of yours wherever we're going."

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One chapter left in this episode. Please review.


	5. Hearts Entwined, Destinies Joined

Here's the final chapter of this episode! Yay! I'm at a convention right now - Katsucon. If any of you are there and see a casual Fujioka Haruhi or a Singing in the Rain Kaito, come up and say hi! I'll be with Cheshire cat Hitachiin twins and I respond to my character names, Captain MeraSparrow, and Hawkear! Plus we all just got a call from Greg Ayres. It was adorable.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Saïx puppy. He belongs to a Deviantart member. I also do not own the hippogriff scene. That's out of the Prizoner of Azkeban film.

**Chapter Five: Hearts Entwined, Destinies Joined**

James cried out with effort as his sword sliced through another Heartless, and it dissipated around the blade. He stood there, panting for breath, sweat running down his face as more Heartless leapt at him. He swung around to meet them, but was too slow. They converged on him. Just as their claws touched his armor, a sort of crystalline bubble appeared around him. The shadowy Heartless crashed into it, their attacks reflected on themselves, and they disappeared. He stood, immobilized, within the Reflect spell, looking for the caster.

His aunt came into view. Her hand was outstretched, her new Horizon keyblade pointed at him. "I think you've had enough for now, don't you?" she murmured calmly.

The Reflect spell wore off, and James motioned at the hundreds upon hundreds of Heartless surrounding them. There were monsters of every variety."We'll have to get rid of all of these, first."

"Easy," she replied. "Thunder!" Unlike James, she had not relinquished the unrealistic power of a video game character. Predictably, bolts of lightning rained down on their enemies for several long minutes, taking out dozens. "Out of magic," she conceded at last, "Ooo, and no ethers...," she frowned as she reached into a pocket. "But here's a potion—you look like you need it!" She tossed the jar, and, with a grin at him, she leapt into battle, taking out dozens more. There were maybe twenty or so heartless of each species—and about a hundred or more species, which meant about an hundred score heartless... It wouldn't take long. "I want chicken, I want liver," she sang crazedly as she smashed a dragon-ish creature, "Meowmix, Meowmix, please deliver!"

James shot her a bemused look of concern, before engaging exhaustedly in the fight once more. He had been training here in this valley for hours and hours of real time—which was like days, over a week, in the game. And, body no longer working like it would in the game, this meant he had gone without food or sleep. That infuriating duck—Donald had been his name—had been of help there, constantly curing him and alleviating his symptoms. However, the duck had left him when the lass had turned up. But, even without the advanced healing abilities, he preferred the lass to the duck. She was _much_ better company!

"Skip, skip, skip to my Lou! Skip, skip, skip to my Lou!" she sang perkily, frolicking through waves of foes and playfully swinging her weapon about, throttling enemies left and right. "Skip, skip, skip to my Lou! Skip to my Lou, my dar-lin'!"

They took out wave upon wave of enemies, bosses, monsters, until at last there was only one scrawny little Shadow left, which James put his sword through with satisfaction. A wave of fatigue swept over him and he swayed; without meaning to, he toppled off balance to a sitting position, swords clattering away, favoring his injured arm.

The lass knelt at his side. "Easy, now. You've gone and burned yourself out. Get to Merlin's and get some rest. I don't want you to fight anymore until you've gotten the chance to recover. Oh, and don't forget to eat! MacDuck sells ice cream, and I suppose that there must be a restaurant or something in town." With that, she tossed him several thousand munny.

"What's ice cream?—But wait, where are you going?" he asked as she turned to run off.

"To the World That Never Was. I'ma make a Saïx-puppy!" she cried hyperly. "See you in a few minutes!" and she ran off to god-knows-where.

—

"How can we find out where to go next?" Amy asked once back at the shack. "There haven't been any signs or dreams or anything."

"You are concerned," Tia Dalma said with amusement. Why did doubt, suspicion and worry entertain the woman so?

"You said it yourself—we're running out of time. And if we have no way of finding where the other manifestations are, then the realms will collide, and Jack will be lost forever!"

"Na who said dere was no way?" Teacher asked sternly, hands on hips. "Didn't come from my mout'."

"Then how?"

"I will show you de way." The lass's expression brightened, only to darken again as the mystic added, "But later. Right now, you need fuse together what forms ya have."

"And how will I do that?"

"I will show you de way," Tia repeated with a grin.

"But later?" the girl added with a resigned smile.

"O' course not. A' soon as all de man'festashuns ya found been brought here, I will set ta teaching you."

"Ohhh... so _that's_ why you asked me to bring Laughter along."

"Yes. And Fear and Self-Confidence are here, also," James added, once more in pirate attire, arm still a-sling—thankfully, with the help of several potions and Cure spells in the KH world, his shoulder was nearly healed.

"Dat leaves jus' Pride an' Wisdom at Azil an Sekirite." Predictably, she turned and looked pointedly at Norrington, who rolled his eyes.

"_Must_ I?"

"You'd only have to row one way. You can _ride_ one of them back."

"Yeah. The problem with rowing: you need two arms."

This met silent stares before the girl finally said something along the lines of, "He _has_ got a point there, hasn't he—well then, Mr. Norrington," she went on in a wonderful Jack impression, "it seems that I shall be accompanying you. It is an opportune moment for me to shirk all sorts of physical work in your place, and rather use magic instead. 'Sides," she sniffed, "it's a sugarcane plantation, right? Bound to be plenty of rum."

"No. No rum," he resolved.

She seemed to shudder, and asked with barely-contained horror, "But why's the rum gone?"

This of course had the man smiling wryly and obviously trying not to (although this effort must indeed have been half-hearted, for a reader can well imagine that a commodore must be able to train his face.) "How do you do that so well?"

"It comes from practice, research, and sev'ral years' obsessin', mate. Savvy?"

And so they set out, the lass bending the water under their rowboat so that it carried them in whatever direction they needed to go. In a little over two hours—during which Ames amused herself by making fish float in bubbles of water—the boat floated ashore onto the bank of a stream flowing through the property of the Azil an Sekirite plantation. The two hiked through acres of sugarcane (a few stalks of which the girl was tempted to pilfer...) until they reached an open farmyard. James led the way confidently toward the stable. They strode in, and he met with a free black worker, conversing formally in French. The worker did not seem pleased to see them, but they were led down the aisle nonetheless. The last stalls, right beside one another, held the horse and the hippogriff. The doors were opened, and the typical bowing ritual ensued before both were brought out.

"Merci," was all Amy could say, with her minimal French, but she felt it was better than saying nothing. They began to walk back toward the boat so that it could be returned to the plantation, and as they were bidding their goodbyes, the worker placed a sack of sugarcane in her arms. She looked down at it in confusion. "What's this for?"

The worker gave a long, complicated answer in French, which James translated very shortly (in all meanings of the word) as meaning, "He likes your courtesy." He himself gave the sack of sugarcane a suspicious glare and they nodded their thanks to the worker, who then left, carrying the rowboat above his head.

"Well," commented the lass after a few moments, "that was awkward."

James' glower hadn't changed. He looked down at her and asked, rather resignedly, "So who's riding whom?"

"Well..." she looked longingly at the hippogriff she was leading. This would be her one and only chance to ride it before it would be fused with the other emotions. "I think..._you_ should take Pride, and I'll take Sensibility." No moment is too good for a Jane Austen reference... She took the horse's lead from him and mounted, still holding onto the hippogriff. "Well, go on, bow."

"Are you certain? I mean, don't _you_ wish to?" even as he asked this, he bowed low.

"Psh. I can ride one any ol' time if I feel like going to that realm. _You_, sir, on the other hand, will never have this chance again," she replied confidently as Pride returned the gesture. "See if he'll let you touch him. That's it, nice and slow... Great! He ought to let you ride 'im now!"

"Amy, I am not so sure about thiii—," he started as her magic lifted him and plopped him on the creature's back. "I hardly know how to ride a horse—"

"Go on, git!" she cried, slapping the hippogriff on the rump. It broke into a gallop, wings unfolding, and it was all James could do to hold on as it began to flap said wings—And suddenly they were in the air! _Flying!_ James' breath hitched in his throat as he looked around in awe and amazement. He looked down and could see everything—the plantation, the river, the town off in the hills, the distant mountains, the sparkling ocean... He could see the girl, galloping far beneath him and waving and cheering, a huge grin just discernible on her face. In a moment, however, she fell behind, as his eagle-horse surged forward, wings beating magnificently.

The land soon ended and they were over the ocean. The hippogriff descended until they were skimming over its surface, a talon dipped gracefully in the water. It was such a speed and such a feeling as the commodore had never before experienced, and amid his exhilaration he did what any person experiencing such power and joy would do: He released his grip on the feathers, arms stretching out, and shouted if not for joy then simply for the thrill of it... before nearly falling off as his mount unexpectedly veered upward again, and clinging to its neck once more.

Perhaps an hour and a half later, Ames and the horse were swimming into the bayou. Tia Dalma came out to greet them, but stopped herself as she noticed the absence of the lass's (human) companion.

She was about to ask his whereabouts when, in this moment, the hippogriff broke through the trees, gliding gracefully toward them and lighting on the bank. Its rider wore a huge, triumphant grin, and his eyes sparkled with an elated joy. "That was amazing!" he panted to the girl, sliding off and giving Pride a grateful and well-deserved pat. "Wonderful—wonderful creature! I've never felt such a rush."

The mystic, as yet unnoticed, watched him with an almost shy smile that seemed so out of place on her face. However, when he looked up and spotted her, both smiles disappeared. And both pairs of eyes continued to sparkle. "Na' all de man'festachuns been gaddered. Come, bot' o' you. It is time."

They followed her in—James shaking slightly and breathlessly from the adrenaline rush—and soon, all the five manifestations they had caught were somehow in the spare bedroom. Tia Dalma blessed each of the creatures, gave poor Fear a few consoling words, and proceeded to instruct the lass. "Draw ya sword an' use it ta focus ya magic. Good. Na point it outward and call upon the elements for de magic you need."

Well, one can imagine that the lass would not make a spell without a flourish. She took a deep breath and sang in lilting tones, "Water, Fire, Earth and Air/ Binding powers with me please share./ The elements that make this man/ Please help make them him again./ And as we more forms of him find/ Let them with his essence bind." Her voice seemed to echo, lingering tones creating chords with newer notes. It was a tune of creating and blending. A great ball of light glowed at the tip of her blade. "Now those who our friend composite,/ those the same and opposite,/ each step forth and now become/ no more many, only one." She looked from form to form and hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath. The notes from her song continued around them, but she had stopped singing, and instead began to speak normally. "Love." The magnificent horse stepped toward the light, and as soon as its nose touched the globe, it became a stream of sparkling golden light which the globe absorbed. The light grew and began to take shape. "Self-esteem." The sapphire butterfly bobbed toward the magic, and a similar thing happened. "Laughter." Okay, so the dolphin couldn't exactly approach it as the others had, but he gave a great kick of his tail and began to float, swimming through the air—or perhaps swimming on the notes of the music—toward the shape. "Pride." James watched, face golden in the light, awed into little more than a statue, mute and staring. "Trust." And she looked at Fear with consoling, chocolate eyes. He nodded, eyes wide with apprehension. "Remember," she murmured softly, "you'll still be there. You just won't be alone."

"I know," he mumbled with an uncertain smile. Hesitating only a moment more, he then lifted his chin with unforseen confidence and strode into the light. "Goodbye."

"It's not goodbye," she whispered as he disappeared. "It's hello." There was a blinding flash and the light took the shape of a human body. Teacher joined hands with James and Amy—the former of which looked at her in an alarmed confusion—and instructed that they join hands with one another also.

"We will need all de magic can get."

"I think you are mistaken. _I_ don't have any magic," Norrington murmured.

Tia gave him a meaningful look, dark eyes digging deep into his own, looking into the depths of his soul. "All living t'ings has magic," she replied slowly, "But only some can use it." James blinked and, despite his bewilderment, followed her instruction. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and murmured in an ethereal voice, "Hearts entwined, destinies joined."

The chant was taken up by the others, "Hearts entwined, destinies joined," and repeated over and over again. James' heart began to beat faster with the memories of a secret death. The killer had been chanting also, and the last words of the victim had been eerily similar to what they were chanting now. Painful memories burned in his mind, and his brow furrowed over his intense, blank gaze, but he continued to chant, regardless, even when his voice began to shake. "Hearts entwined, destinies joined." They could all feel the energy growing. The lingering chords began to move on their own without the girl's voice, ascending, growing, broadening. The form began to glow more and more brightly as they chanted. "Hearts entwined, destinies joined."

With a blinding explosion of light, the binding was complete. The light flew from the form, falling in glittering shimmers around them and revealing a face so familiar, so loved, and so missed. There was Jack, floating unconscious and unclothed in the middle of the room. The lass pointed her sword at him once more, guiding him into the bed and covering him gently with the sheets. There was a general golden glow around him, and his hair and sheets billowed and bobbed as though he were still afloat.

"It's good to see you again, Jack," the lass whispered with relieved tears in her eyes, laying a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Him will egsist now, even if ya sha' fail," Tia Dalma announced. "Him will live on. But him not complete."

"Right. We should find the next emotion as soon as possible." She looked wearily back to James—wearily because she had used a huge amount of magic and worn herself out—who was silently staring and looking very shaken. "Are you all right? You seem disturbed."

"J-just unearthing suppressed memories," he confessed, quickly pulling a mask over his vulnerability, before turning and rushing out of the room, leaving Tia and Amy staring after him.

They looked back to one another. "What was that all about?" the lass whispered, but Teacher would not answer; only smiled with that ever-present partially-hidden amusement and shook her head.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this installment! Next episode should begin at the latest in a month. (I'll try to get it up before then!) Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of it!


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